


Bag of Bones (Drabble Collection)

by popatochisp



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horrortale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2019-08-28 09:01:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popatochisp/pseuds/popatochisp
Summary: A collection of Undertale Reader/skeleton drabbles done in my spare time, based on prompts from tumblr.Running the gamut of situations and skeletons so tagging will be minimal, but nothing to warn for so far except language, and I'll be sure to update the tags if that changes!





	1. You've Goat to Be Kidding (US!Papyrus/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **“Just don’t buy a goat. I don’t care what you do, just no goats.” + US!Papyrus (dealer’s choice ;D )**  
>  _

“hey, hun?”

You look up from your computer. Papyrus is standing next to you looking ready to go out, the little monster ambassador’s hand in his own.

Stars, that Chara is one cute kid. You hope this ‘Asgore letting you guys babysit’ thing happens more often—one of these days, you might actually be able to hang out with them instead of having to _work_ all the time.

“m’gonna take the kiddo out to the petting zoo,” Papyrus says. “you wanna come with?”

You do. You _really_ do, but, “No, I can’t, I gotta finish up here. I’m sorry…”

“aw, don’t sweat it,” he chuckles, leaning forward to brush a toothy skeleton kiss to your forehead. “we’ll just have extra fun on your behalf. _really_ shake up the joint, right, kid?”

Chara grins, mischief gleaming in their eyes. “Right!”

This is a tactic and you know it, but they’re not getting you, not _this_ time. _  
_

_Somebody_ has to be responsible around here and with Sans away for the week, it _has_ to be you.

“Just…don’t buy a goat, or something,” you say weakly. “I don’t care _what_ you do, just… no goats.”

“aw, babe…” Papyrus looks at you with a deeply sympathetic frown. “you _know_ i can’t promise that.”

Of course he can’t.

“alright, well, work hard so i don’t have to, yeah?” He pats your shoulder and turns, tugging Chara along behind him. “c’mon, kid, let’s go, we’re gonna buy _all_ the goats.”

You hear Chara’s giggle and the receding words, “Dad’s gonna flip out!”

……Asgore. The kindly giant goat monster who’d left his human kid with you because he was somehow under the bizarre impression you were responsible.

The guy who’d look at you all _disappointed_ if you let these wacky wildcards bring home a petting zoo and damn it all, you were going to have to do something about this, weren’t you?

You hurry after your troublemaker of a boyfriend, who grins when he sees you. “not too busy for us after all?”

“You can’t be trusted,” you tell him flatly, “and Chara’s an enabler.”

Chara smiles innocently and Papyrus looks equally far from offended. He wraps his arm around your waist and tugs you close against his side. 

“happy to have the voice of reason along for the ride,” he says. “sorry, kid, probably only gettin’ _one_ goat to bring home to ‘gorey.”

“ _No_ goats,” you insist, and Papyrus shrugs.

He also turns and stage-whispers to Chara, “don’t worry, i’ll talk ‘em around.”

He absolutely would _not_ …but you have to admit that it already sounds a million times more fun than working all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, uh...I opened up drabble requests for awhile over on [my tumblr.](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/) Never had more than 2 messages in my inbox over there and now I've got 30. XD
> 
> Oh, well, it's an adventure, I love these low-commitment drabbles, they should be a good break from longfic every now and again! :3


	2. Bad to the Bone (UF!Sans/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_“Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.” + UF!Sans (dealer’s choice ;D)_ **

You don’t think you’ve ever been warned quite so many times in your _life_ as when you started dating Sans.

You heard a lot of things from the rumor mill, real scary stuff that’d ward off _anybody_ with sense.

Sans dusted his first monster before he was ten, he was born ruthless. Sans had never been hit in a fight, he was untouchable. Sans could be anywhere he wanted at any time with just a thought, no wall or lock or gate could stop him if he wanted to get to you.

He was _dangerous_.

From the skeleton himself, you learned that this was all pretty much true…but it still made you laugh every time you thought about those people; the tense and nervous expressions on their faces when they tried to warn you away.

“what?” Sans demanded, scowling at your snickering. His red eyes gleam menacingly in the dark of the room, their light glinting eerily off the gold of his fang.

“Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy,” you say.

“they’re right,” he says gruffly. “i am.”

You try not to giggle, knowing it would probably hurt his feelings or bruise his ego, but it’s so _hard_.

He’s handing you the cup of tea that he made for you, for your sore throat. You take a sip and it’s your favorite, exactly how you like it, and you’d never told him, he just _knew_.

His claws light ever so gently on your forehead, the sharp edges angled away from your skin as he checks your temperature for the third time today, and he murmurs, “fever’s down from before…that’s good, right?”

You smile at the genuine concern in his voice. “Yeah, that’s good. Think you missed your calling.”

Sans frowns. “my callin’?”

“You make one _hell_ of a nurse.” You smirk at him and add, “Should get you one of those uniforms to go with it, with the cute little skirts.”

Sans’ entire skull flares bright red, his pupils shrinking in offended shock. “i…! you…! shuddap, i ain’t yer nurse!”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He just glares at you before huffing and turning away. “yer lucky yer sick,” he grumbles.

Yeah, or else he’d _really_ show you what a tough guy he was, by holding your hand and hugging you and asking if he could kiss you; the way he always did no matter how many times you’d told him he didn’t _have_ to ask.

Such a scary guy, your skeleton.

“I’m not too sick for a little smooch,” you tell him coyly, and Sans turns back to face you.

“…yeah?” You nod. “……alright. alright, jus’ a little one, an’ then back to bed ‘til ya’ sleep this thing off, got it?”

“Got it.”

You were already thinking about how you were going to coax Sans into taking that nap _with_ you, but you don’t think it’ll be too hard.

He’s the sweetest boyfriend you’ve ever had, and the absolute _worst_ ‘bad guy’ you’ve had the pleasure of falling for.


	3. Best Worst Day Ever (US!Sans/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**“Do you really think I could ever replace you?” + US!Sans** _

You were having _a day_.

It was one of those days where everything was garbage: everything you said was the wrong thing, everything you tried to do turned out terrible, and it was just one thing after another to the point that you hadn’t even had a break to just _breathe_.

You went looking for Sans as soon as you could. Your thought was that your cheerful, affectionate skeleton could…brighten your mood somehow, in that inexplicable way he always did.

But you should’ve known even _that_ would backfire on you.

You saw Sans alright, behind the bar exactly where he should’ve been halfway through his shift. You saw the personable smile on his skull and you saw the careful balance between precision and flourish that produced perfect cocktails with every pour.

You _also_ saw the pretty little monster girl giggling as he passed a neon green martini into her hooves with a charming grin, and you…

You kinda want to throw up. 

Suddenly, all you can think about is how _that’s_ the kind of person Sans should be with: somebody bubbly and sweet like he is, somebody _cute_ and _good_ and not a barely functional disaster like _you_.

Your eyes sting and it’s all you can do to scurry out the back before you burst into tears.

Crying in an alleyway because you saw your boyfriend _talking to a girl_ feels like a pathetic new low for you and it just makes you sob harder. You need to get a hold of yourself, you _know_ you do, but you can’t stop and you hate it.

This day feels like the worst day of your life.

The sound of your name and a gentle touch to your shoulder makes you jolt.

Sans looks alarmed, to say the least, at the sight of your tear-streaked face. “WHAT’S WRONG?” he demands, cupping your cheek with gentle concern—concern you don’t deserve by a long-shot. “WHY ARE YOU CRYING, LOVE?”

Your throat is too tight to answer, but you know you don’t have to: Sans is a wizard at reading faces. You have no idea _how_ , but you’ve always been an open book to him, like all he has to do is get a good look at you and he can read your mind.

The thought makes you sob again.

Sans is going to realize what an _idiot_ you are, crying over nothing at all just because you couldn’t handle a hard day.

Sure enough, understanding washes over his skull. “OH…YOU DON’T _REALLY_ THINK…”

He frowns, not liking whatever he sees in your expression.

“I WOULD _NEVER_ ,” he says firmly, sounding offended by the notion. “I’M YOURS. YOU KNOW THAT, DON’T YOU? DO YOU REALLY THINK I COULD _EVER_ REPLACE _YOU_?”

You just sniffle. “I’m…I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say, “I just…I don’t know what’s wrong with me…”

That seems to soften him.

“A VERY TERRIBLE DAY, I WOULD IMAGINE,” Sans concludes with a sigh. His gloved hands wipe the tears from your cheeks and you lean into his touch. As much as you doubt you deserve it, you crave the comfort in those hands; in Sans’ genuine, straightforward affection. “IT’S ALRIGHT, I’M HERE NOW. I’LL TAKE CARE OF YOU.”

“What…what about…” Your insecure heart hisses _that girl_ , but your mouth says, “your shift?”

Sans smiles at you, all too knowingly. “THE HELL WITH IT,” he says. “IT’S A SLOW NIGHT. I’LL CALL THE CHIEF IN THE MORNING TOO, MOVE MY SCHEDULE AROUND. SURELY WITH ALL THOSE HUMANS THEY OUGHT TO BE ABLE TO HANDLE ONE MEASLY FIRE OR TWO WITHOUT ME.”

Stars above, he was serious. Sans was _really_ going to do that for you, rearranging his life on a whim because you were upset and he wanted to be with you.

You love him. You love him so much, how could you _ever_ have thought he’d leave you for somebody else?

“You don’t have to…” You trail off when he raises a browbone at you, as if daring you to finish the self-deprecating sentence. You laugh a little instead, sheepishly saying, “Thank you, Sans. You’re the best.”

“OF COURSE I AM,” he’s happy to agree, the blue of his eye-lights seeming to brighten at your smile. “AND THE BEST HUMAN IS MY DATEMATE.” In a conspiratorial whisper that’s absolutely not a whisper, he adds, “ _THAT’S YOU_.”

You laugh.

Sans is _good_ at making you laugh and when he leans in to kiss you, you think that maybe this ‘worst day ever’ is finally starting to look up.


	4. Better Than Expected (UF!Papyrus/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_“Hold my hand so he gets jealous.” + UF!Papyrus_ **

You felt so _petty_.

You saw _him_ saunter his smug ass into the coffee shop and the first thing you do is find the biggest, sexiest person in the place and sidle up to him, as if to say, ‘Hey, look who moved onto bigger and better, you prick!’

You hadn’t, of course. You were still painfully single after that shithead loser broke your heart and the very tall, _very_ intimidating skeleton whose personal space you’re invading is giving you a look like he’s about to call you out.

No one had ever complimented your skill in forethought, but at least you were quick on your feet.

“Hold my hand so he gets jealous,” you hurriedly whisper to the skeleton.

He frowns at you. “WHAT—”

“Blue shirt,” you hiss, and the red lights in his eye-sockets dart quickly towards the bastard in question. “He’s my cheating ex-son of a _bitch_ and I _can’t_ let him see me still single, hold my hand!”

A calculating look comes over his skull, like a general planning a campaign. When he smirks, you don’t have to wonder why you instinctively picked _him_ for this little con: he’s _very_ attractive.

“I’LL DO YOU ONE BETTER,” he says, and that’s your only warning before you’re pulled flush against him, sharp claws curling around your hip with the propriety of somebody who owns you.

His timing is excellent: your garbage-can ex looks over just in time to see you snuggled up to a skeleton and he _scowls_ , going red in the face.

You suppose he never had been very forward-thinking about monsters. This _has_ to be sticking in his craw and you feel a burst of wicked satisfaction at the thought of how impotently furious he must be thinking that you’d gone from him to a monster in just a few short months.

It takes all the self-control you have not to laugh out loud until after he turns on his heel and storms out like a baby having a tantrum.

You look up at the skeleton, grinning widely. “Thanks,” you say. “I know I didn’t give you a lot of warning there, but that was perfect. Uh…”

“PAPYRUS,” your hero introduces himself. “I PRIDE MYSELF ON PERFORMING WELL UNDER PRESSURE. YOUR LITTLE RUSE WAS NO CHALLENGE AT ALL!”

You introduce yourself in return. “Sorry to drag you into my crap. It’s just…he’s such a _bastard_ , I couldn’t let him _win_ , y’know?”

“CONCEDE NOTHING TO YOUR ENEMY,” Papyrus nods in agreement, “NOT EVEN A COMPLETE AND UTTER IDIOT LIKE _THAT_ ONE.”

You snort. “How’d you know he was an idiot? He is, you’re a hundred percent right, but what tipped you off?”

“HE CHEATED ON YOU.” It’s said so matter-of-factly that you’re momentarily stunned. “ANYONE WHO HAD SOMEONE LIKE _YOU_ TO COME HOME TO AND WENT LOOKING ELSEWHERE IS A MORON.”

You are…suddenly very aware of the fact that Papyrus still has his arm around you. Your cheeks are starting to feel a little hot. 

“I’LL BE FRANK,” he says. “I ADMIRE YOUR AUDACITY. YOU SEEM FIERCE…FOR A HUMAN. I LIKE THAT. I WOULD BE WILLING TO GO ON A DATE WITH YOU.”

“You…you would?”

“I WOULD! FEEL FREE TO BE HONORED BY MY REGARD, I’M SURE THIS IS A VERY MOMENTOUS OCCASION FOR YOU.”

………

Oh stars, this scary-looking hot guy was a huge _dork_.

He’s even _more_ attractive to you now.

“Do you…wanna get a coffee together?” you propose.

Papyrus’ eye-sockets go wide and startled. “WHAT, SERIOUSLY?”

You tamp down a giggle. _He_ asked _you_ out and now he’s surprised? “I mean…we _are_ at a café already. It seems…convenient?”

He stares at you a second longer, sputtering before hastily covering, “O-OF COURSE, YOU SIMPLY CANNOT _WAIT_ TO GO ON A DATE WITH THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS! I _SUPPOSE_ I CAN HUMOR YOU, YOU EAGER LITTLE HUMAN. NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

_Cute…!_

For the first time since you broke up, you think you’re almost grateful to your shitty ex: he may have just inadvertently set you up with your next boyfriend.


	5. A Modest Proposal (HT!Papyrus/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**“You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?” + HT!Papyrus** _

Something was up.

You could tell by the way Papyrus was fidgeting—straightening the silverware every thirty-six seconds exactly, thoughtfully tapping his spindly phalanges against his braces, refusing to turn his skull to face you all the way…

You were starting to get concerned, actually.

“Papy, is everything alright?”

Papyrus freezes in place before laughing hesitantly. “Nyeh-Heh-Heh…Wh-Why On Earth Would You Assume Anything Was Wrong…?”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “Well, for one thing, you haven’t even touched your food.” 

It was _beyond_ unusual for your boyfriend to just straight up ignore a full plate—unusual for _any_ monster when they’d all survived a famine of devastating proportions, but _especially_ for Papyrus who so prided himself on his culinary skill.

For him to go to the trouble of cooking for you after a grueling double-shift at the hospital and then not even _eat_ it?

Something _had_ to be up.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” you ask gently. “You can tell me.”

Papyrus sighs across from you, his whole body sagging dramatically. “I Know,” he says. “I _Know_ … You Are The Most Intuitive, Supportive, And Wonderful Human A Skeleton Could Ask For! I Wanted To Do This For You The Right Way, But I…I’m Afraid My Non-Existent Nerves Are Getting The Better Of Me.”

You’d known for a long time that Papyrus struggled with anxiety, unsurprising after the kinds of things he’d lived through. He was treating it well, with both medication and therapy, and the remainder he covered with his boastful, bombastic personality but an episode or two still slipped through from time to time.

This…didn’t _look_ like an anxiety attack, though, and you’re not really sure what’s going on.

Still, you do know what you should say, as his ‘intuitive and supportive’ datemate. “Papyrus…you don’t have to be nervous.” You smile reassuringly. “I love you.”

That wins you a smile in return. “I Love You, Too,” he promises. “That’s Why…That’s Why…”

Your eyebrows shoot up as Papyrus stands from the table with a deep breath, coming to tower over you with his monstrous height.

It doesn’t last: he drops down on one knee in short order, presenting you with a shiny silver ring in a velvet box.

“That’s Why I Want To Marry You,” he says. “More Than _Anything_.”

You’re too stunned to reply for a long, long moment. 

It’s only when Papyrus questioningly says your name, sweat starting to bead along his skull, that you remember he needs to hear your answer out loud.

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your arms around him and nearly tackling him to the floor. “Me, too, _yes_ , I want to marry you, too!”

Papyrus sighs in relief, laughing as he scoops you up against him into a hug with ease. “Wowie, You’re A Master Of Suspense!”

“Pfft, like I’d have ever said no? To _you_?” You scoff at the very thought.

He narrows his eye-sockets at you. 

“Are You Angling For A Compliment Battle?” he asks, settling you back in your chair. “Be Warned! You’ll Most Likely Win, Because! You’re Incredibly Intelligent And Attractive And I’m _Very_ Inclined To Go Easy On You!”

And so it begins.

“That’s the only way I’d have a chance against you,” you say as he retakes his own seat across from you. “You have the most creative compliments, I’ve never met _anybody_ as clever and sweet as you are.”

“Nyeh-Heh-Heh, _Au Contraire_ , Dearest Human…!”

You spend the rest of the evening trading affectionate, flattering volleys with your fiancé over dinner.

… _…Fiancé_.

You _really_ love the sound of that.


	6. Love in a Ball-Pit (UT!Sans/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **“Mind if I join you?” + UT!Sans**  
>  _

The only thing worse than working at a children’s play-place all day was being tagged to stay late to clean it up, and today you’d drawn the short straw.

You’d spent the last hour and a half scrubbing the bathrooms, wiping down greasy tables, and mopping up kiddie-puke that you weren’t even being paid extra to handle.

At least nobody was around to hear you cussing up a storm about how much you hated this place and this job and your manager…or so you thought, until you started emptying the ball-pit.

Three or four plastic-rainbow-ball-layers deep, you stumble upon a skeleton.

Your first, split-second thought is, _‘Oh my god, this is a horror movie, this is how I die,’_ but it doesn’t last long. 

It couldn’t _possibly_ when the skeleton in question was wearing an old blue hoodie and snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

… _Heh. ‘Wake the dead.’_

You’re not really sure what the protocol is on strange monsters on the premises after hours. You’re also not really sure you _care_ after your brutal day listening to screaming children and their screaming, entitled parents who seemed convinced that everything in the world was your fault.

With the true nihilism of any overworked, underpaid customer service employee, you decide to just clean around the guy.

You spend another couple minutes sucking up the balls before he actually snorts and wakes up from the shifting. You feel his…eyes? Sockets? On you but pointedly don’t engage, focusing on your task.

He looks like a grown (if kinda short) dude, he can find his own way out.

“s’up.”

Or not.

“Not much,” you shrug. “S’up with you?”

The skeleton stretches, somehow, you have no idea how that works. “mmm, just nappin’ in the ball-pit.”

“You do you, buddy.”

“sans,” he says. “sans the skeleton. y’seem pretty chill about this.”

You introduce yourself shortly. “Should I not be?”

Sans considers it. “the human who found me in the sandbox that one time was pretty freaked.”

That startles a laugh out of you. “Why were you sleeping in a _sandbox_?”

“i sleep everywhere,” he grins. “m’real good at it.”

You eye the hard, plastic balls you’re both surrounded by, one of the most uncomfortable places you can imagine. “Clearly.”

“heheheh…so what’s your story? y’work here or somethin’?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Gotta clean the cesspool or I’ll get written up.” You scoff, angrily vacuuming up more balls. “Not even getting _overtime_ for this…”

“psssh, that’s crap,” Sans says. “guess that explains the pg-13 language i was hearin’…why d’you work here, anyhow?”

“………”

God, what a _great_ question.

You had no idea: between your shitty manager and your lazy coworkers taking advantage of you all the time, you _hated_ this place. With the added ‘bonus’ of your loud and spoiled clientele, you’d been miserable here from the get-go.

Maybe it was time for a change.

“Y’know,” you say out loud, “I don’t think I should.”

You shut off the ball-vacuum and toss the nozzle aside. You’re being impulsive and you know it, but suddenly, you can’t think of anything worse than having to keep working this job and being _done_ with it is so liberating.

You feel utterly carefree, _almost_ as carefree as this skeleton lounging in the ball-pit after hours, totally unconcerned about being ditched by whatever friends and family he must’ve come here with.

“Hey,” you say to Sans. “Mind if I join you?”

Sans grins up at you, waving his arm in a broad, welcoming fashion. “mi ball-pit es su ball-pit.”

You snicker and flop down into the colorful sea of spheres with a hollow, plastic clatter.

“Yeeeep,” you say after a moment. “Just as I suspected.”

“what?”

“It’s _really_ uncomfortable in here.”

“heheheheheheh…told’ja i was good at sleepin’.”

“That you did.” You shift a little, but it’s still just as awkward and moderately painful as before. “Oh well, last time I’m gonna be here, anyway.”

For the first time, Sans sits up, looking over at you. “hey,” he says, “feel free to say no to this, but uh…you wanna take this someplace else?”

“…Like where?”

“i know a pretty sweet burger joint ‘round here. ya’ hungry?”

Stars, _yes_. You’d been forced to skip your lunch break today, sustaining yourself on nibbles of disgusting, leftover pizza crusts like a scavenger.

“I could go for a burger,” you admit. “As long as you’re paying, ‘cause I’m unemployed now, I guess.”

Sans’ grin is sly. “you’re in luck,” he winks. “i got a tab open there, i never pay. you in?”

You can’t tell if you’re still just riding the high of walking out on the worst job you’ve ever had, or if this skeleton is actually, weirdly kind of…charming.

Can’t hurt to find out, _especially_ if free food is involved.

“Yeah,” you decide, “yeah, I’m in.”

“let’s go, then, i know a pretty quick shortcut.”

Sans holds a hand out to you and you take it.

Of all the things you’ve found at the bottom of a ball-pit, you think this skeleton is the best one so far.


	7. Resisting a Rest (SF!Papyrus/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**“You nap, I’ll stay awake.” + SF!Papyrus** _

Your boyfriend was so _stupid_.

You thought it with considerable affection, but it was no less true. 

You watch Papyrus where he’s slumped against the arm of the couch, his head bobbing periodically as he falls most of the way asleep and then wakes himself up when gravity kicks in, only to start the cycle up all over again a few seconds later.

It was his own fault he was so tired. You’re not sure what the hell he expected, pounding three lattes after midnight because he was ‘inspired’ and had commissions piling up, but that was the brain of an artist for you.

… _lack_ of brain, literally.

Bonehead.

You keep telling yourself not to feel bad for him, but it’s not working as well as you’d like. He’s trying _so hard_ to stay awake and he looks _so exhausted_ , some part of your soul just can’t help but bloom with a weird combination of love and pity.

Papyrus was a bonehead alright, but he was _your_ bonehead.

“Hey,” you say, and he jolts, whipping towards you with wide eye-sockets like he’d forgotten you were even there. “This is getting sad. Go to bed.”

Papyrus huffs, rubbing a hand against his face. “can’t,” he mutters, slurring tiredly. “sans’s s’posed to call…”

You look at the chunky old phone on the wall in the kitchen, a landline that Papyrus’ paranoid older brother insisted was more secure than a cell phone for sensitive information. 

Having heard a little bit about life Underground and about the Royal Scientist who’d proven time and time again that she could hack damn near _anything_ , you at least understand where Sans is coming from.

You can’t take a landline to bed with you, though, and Papyrus’ room is _just_ far enough away from the kitchen that if the phone rang, he probably wouldn’t hear it.

You couldn’t think of anything scarier in the world than a pissed off Sans with reason to believe something had happened to his brother, not after that _harrowing_ Shovel Talk you’d gotten when your thing with Papyrus had turned serious.

But there’s other options here, you can make this work.

“C’mere, then,” you say, patting your lap in invitation. “You nap, I’ll stay awake.”

It seems to take a minute for your words to penetrate his sleep-fogged skull. “……yeah? you’ll wake me up?”

A tall order, honestly, he slept like a rock, but, “Yeah, if he calls.”

Papyrus shifts, moving toward you on instinct only to hesitate. “…you sure?”

You’re Papyrus’ first _relationship_ -relationship, his first thing beyond a one-night-stand and he’s still pussyfooting around and figuring out the differences.

The fact that you _want_ him to get cuddly sometimes always seems to throw him for a loop, that he’s allowed to touch you even when sex isn’t happening and that _doesn’t_ bug you or make you want him to go away.

It’s cute as hell but you know he’s self-conscious about it, so you just smirk at him. “What, is my lap not good enough for you?” you challenge. “Mister Fancybones needs the finest goose down stuffing and a thousand plus thread count in his pillows to fall asleep?”

That gets Papyrus snickering, flopping unceremoniously into your lap and curling around you as much as he can like the lankiest, most overgrown cat in the world. 

“m’a simple skeleton,” he says. “you’ll do, i guess.”

“Oh, thank you _ever_ so much.” 

Your tone is sarcastic, but your hands are gentle as you pet along the curve of Papyrus’ skull. Just being horizontal seems to have sapped him of any desire or ability to stay awake and he’s fast going limp where he’s draped himself across you, his eye-sockets falling shut.

“Sweet dreams, Rus,” you murmur.

You don’t think he hears you, though—he’s out like a light and already starting to snore.

The bonehead…

 _Your_ bonehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like everyone and their grandmother, I have my own version of the Swapfell AU in my head so here's a quick and dirty cheat-sheet based on the three most popular versions: aesthetics of SF Purple/SF Gold, personalities of SF Gold/SF Red.


	8. Mission Impossible (SF!Sans/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
>  **“Sharing is caring. Now give me your fries.” + SF!Sans**   
> 

It shouldn’t be this hard. You shouldn’t have to sneak around _in your own home_.

And yet…

Here you were, trying to stealth-mode up to your room before Sans caught you and made you pay.

You don’t jump when you hear a low voice at your ear whisper, “hey, where’s my cut?”

You’re prepared, passing the big cookie back to Papyrus without a word—payment for his silence.

It was already hard enough trying to slip something past Sans without somebody ready to snitch on you at the drop of a hat, but you’d found Papyrus’ weakness in sweets. A bribe here and there was enough to keep him out of the way long enough to give you a fighting chance.

“oh shit, raspberry cheesecake? _fancy_ …good luck, human, i believe in you.”

No, he didn’t.

You’d be more offended by the hollow encouragement, but you both knew his brother.

You don’t say a word and go straight upstairs, taking the steps two at a time and avoiding every old creaky floorboard that’s tripped you up before. 

Hope is cresting in your soul as you approach your door: you’re _so_ close, you’re almost there, you’ve _never_ made it this far before and the thought that you might actually get away with this is more exciting than words can convey.

You throw open your door in thrilled disbelief that you really, _finally_ pulled this off…!

No, you didn’t.

In the darkness of your room, you see two ultraviolet eye-lights staring right at you, illuminating a very sharp, very familiar smirk.

“ _Damn_ it!”

Sans just cackles at you from atop your bed. “YOU’RE ADORABLE,” he coos, condescending as can be. “YOU _KNOW_ YOU CAN’T GET ANYTHING PAST ME, DEAREST, WHY DO YOU _INSIST_ ON TRYING?”

You sigh, sagging against the door frame in defeat. “You’re a _bastard_. Just take it, already.”

Sans perks up when you hold out the bag of fast food, your greasy sack of treasures bulging with salty, oily delights that you would now have to… _share_.

It makes your heart break a little, it really does.

You’d had no idea that Sans had such love in his non-existent heart for junk food. He was always eating healthy, working out ( _training_ , he insisted), denouncing his little brother’s sweet-tooth…how could you have possibly guessed that the reason he was so careful about his diet and exercise was to balance out his passion for all things fried and greasy?

He’s already eagerly rifling through the bag he took from you, picking and choosing from the cornucopia of everything you’d planned on eating all by yourself.

If you’d known when you started dating Sans that you’d never eat alone again…

Well, no, you’d have dated the bastard anyway. He could be surprisingly sweet when he wasn’t being a smug jerk and shamelessly stealing your food.

As if to prove it, he leans in to kiss you, murmuring against your lips, “IT WAS A VERY GOOD ATTEMPT. YOU’RE GETTING VERY STEALTHY, I’M PROUD OF HOW FAR YOU’VE COME, REALLY.”

You grab at the bag, tentatively trying to tug it out of his claws. “Proud enough to only take a burger…?”

Sans barks out a laugh. “YOU WISH! WHAT IS IT YOU HUMANS SAY? ‘SHARING IS CARING’? NOW GIVE ME YOUR FRIES.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like everyone and their grandmother, I have my own version of the Swapfell AU in my head so here's a quick and dirty cheat-sheet based on the three most popular versions: aesthetics of SF Purple/SF Gold, personalities of SF Gold/SF Red.


	9. Get Dunked On (UT!Papyrus/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Fist bumps are cooler than high-fives…” + UT!Papyrus (dealer’s choice, nobody'd picked Classic Pap yet and I felt bad for him! XD)

There was no way this was going to work.

“IT’S GOING TO WORK,” Papyrus promised, patting your shoulder reassuringly. “JUST STICK TO MY AMAZINGLY INCREDIBLE PLAN, AND HE’LL BE JAPED FOR SURE.”

You didn’t _want_ to doubt Papyrus, but…pranking _Sans_? The master of practical jokes, across time and space? On the _first of April_ , of all days…?

It seemed _impossible_.

Papyrus seemed to sense your hesitation and grinned at you, taking your hands in his. “DO YOU TRUST ME?” he asked.

“Of course!”

“THEN JUST BE COOL! IT SHOULD BE VERY EASY FOR YOU, YOU’RE THE COOLEST PERSON I KNOW, BESIDES MYSELF!”

God, Papyrus was a treasure: he always knew _just_ how to boost your ego.

“Okay…okay, you’re right, we got this!”

“THAT’S THE SPIRIT! YOU STAY HERE WHILE I GO GET INTO POSITION, HE’LL BE HOME ANY MINUTE.”

You busied yourself in the kitchen making sure everything was prepared. If Papyrus had faith in you, you’d have faith in him right back!

This was _going_ to work.

It wasn’t long before Sans sauntered in with a greeting that you casually returned.

“You want a donut?” you ask him, gesturing to the box on the counter. “Pap brought ‘em in earlier, I haven’t had any yet but they look pretty good.”

Sans snorts. “oh yeah, i bet they’re great,” he says, snagging one and taking a big bite. “ _you_ prolly wouldn’t like ‘em less ya’ like mayo-filling.”

You wrinkle your nose in disgust. “What? _Why_ is there mayonnaise?” you demand, aghast. “Is this one of those weird skeleton things?”

“nah, this is a ‘Pap trying to out-joke the king’ thing.” He opens the fridge, pulling out a jug of orange juice and taking a sniff. “see, Pap’s problem is, he thinks if _he’d_ hate it, _i’d_ hate it an’ that just ain’t so. i _love_ mayo donuts, _and_ the toothpaste oreos he left on my desk, _and_ this mac n’ cheese powder water he put in here.”

He proves it by taking a healthy swig from the jug that makes you wince.

“Why—”

“does he bother? on april friggin’ fool’s day?” Sans shrugs. “dunno, my bro’s just cool like that. won’t give up, even when it’s completely, totally impossible.”

You smile because it’s true: if your Papy is one thing, it’s persistent.

“Come on,” you say, entreatingly, “you aren’t even gonna give him _one_? Just to let him feel like he got you?”

“nah, he’d hate that more than anything. he wants to get me for real, i can’t disappoint him by just _pretendin’_ to fall for somethin’.” He sets down the jug and abandons the half-eaten donut on the counter, the slob. “one thing you can tell that datemate of yours, though—he’s never gonna catch me _slippin_ ’.”

So saying, he takes a few quick steps forward right into the section of the floor Papyrus had buttered, sliding himself across the tile into the living room.

… _Damn_ , he was good.

Papyrus had predicted all of that to a t, Sans really _didn’t_ stand a chance.

Sure enough, right on cue there was an ear-splittingly loud honk followed by a thud.

Excited, you scurry into the living room to see Sans face-down on the floor, the hood of his jacket flipped up over his head and one pink slipper kicked clean across the room in alarm.

Papyrus had come out of hiding too, laughing at his brother as he removes the air-horn from beneath the couch cushions.

“GOTCHA, BITCH! NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

You can’t help it, you laugh, too, as you go to stand by Papyrus. Sans is slowly righting himself down on the floor and he watches you in undisguised shock as he realizes you’ve been in on this from the beginning.

“Holy crap,” you giggle, “that was amazing, babe, high-five!”

Papyrus leaves you hanging. “NO, NO, DEAR, _WE_ ARE A POWER-COUPLE, THAT’S NOT COOL ENOUGH. FIST-BUMPS ARE COOLER THAN HIGH-FIVES!”

You can’t argue with that: you gladly bump his knuckles with your own, a thoroughly cool celebration of your victory.

“holy shit,” Sans mumbles, finally getting back up. “i’m so _proud_ right now, i think i’m gonna cry…”

“I OWE THIS MOMENTOUS SUCCESS TO MY INCREDIBLE AND AMAZING DATEMATE,” Papyrus proclaims, sweeping you into his arms, “WITHOUT WHOSE SUPPORT I WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN SO DEEPLY INSPIRED TO PROVE MY JAPING PROWESS!”

He presses his teeth to your cheek, making the ‘MWAH’ sound effect of lips he didn’t have, and goddamn, do you love this skeleton!

“oh…oh, it’s _on_ now, bro,” Sans says, eye-sockets narrowing in determination. “you want a joke-off, you’re _gettin_ ’ a joke-off!”

Normally, you think that’d concern you, but not today.

Papyrus had figured Sans would say that, too, and there were already more countermeasures in place than you could’ve possibly imagined.

This was going to be _fun_ …


	10. Safekeeping (HT!Sans/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**“Who gave you that black eye?” + HT!Sans** _

Sans was remembering.

He hated remembering. He was no good at it, not anymore.

His caved-in skull was like a sieve: big stuff _usually_ stuck, things that caused a real emotional response or felt important at the time, but everything else…

Lucky for him, the things he was remembering right now fit the criteria to a t.

Sans had no trouble recalling what it felt like to snap a neck like a twig. It was easy to call up the sensation of EXP flooding his soul, choking him with power he’d never wanted with every unsuspecting life he snuffed out. The sticky slickness of human blood on his hands was a memory that was never, _ever_ going to leave him—sometimes, when he closed his eye-sockets, he could even still _see_ it.

It made him sick.

These memories were things Sans would _gladly_ lose to the void of his useless skull if he could choose, but right now…

Right now, he _needed_ them.

The man beside him at the bar was nursing his drink. It was slow-going because he kept pausing to press it against his face, cool glass on hot, bruised flesh.

“hey,” Sans says, getting the guy’s attention. He blanches when he gets a good look at the skeleton talking to him, huge and scary with his head wound and his burning red eye-light, but Sans is used to that sort of reaction. It doesn’t stop him from asking, “who gave you that black eye?”

The human still looks a little on edge, but he scoffs. “Just some dumb little tease,” he grumbles. “Don’t worry about it, man.”

“not worried,” Sans assures him. “pretty sure i know the spitfire ya’ got it from, though.”

He drops your name and the human frowns.

“How the hell—”

“names sans. think ya’ might’ve heard of me already.”

 _There’s_ the fear, coming back around.

Sans _knows_ this guy’s heard of him because he knows _you_ : for reasons he can’t even begin to comprehend, you _adore_ him; pursued him until against his better judgment, he agreed to be yours.

It made you so _happy_ , and Sans loved making people happy but especially _you_ , his warm and kind and infinitely forgiving human who talks about ‘my boyfriend, Sans,’ all the damn time like it was actually something to be proud of.

This piece of garbage coworker of yours _knows_ how very much taken you are…and he tried to drag you into the bathroom anyway.

“Listen, buddy,” the trash says shakily, hands already raised in surrender. “It…it was a work party, y’know, there’s…things happen at those, I wasn’t…I didn’t mean to…”

“i don’t care what you meant.”

Sans stands from the bar stool and watches the terror on the human’s face spike. 

He’s a pretty big guy—has been ever since the famine hit and monsters started eating meat soaked in the potent magic of the human soul—and he takes full advantage of that growth spurt now, towering over this prick in the most intimidating way he can.

“i just stopped by to give ya’ a heads up. ya’ ever touch ‘em again…” Sans claps a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezes, feeling the grind of thin little human bones beneath his fingers. “i’ll have’ta pay ya’ another visit. ya’ know what that means?”

He mutely shakes his head ‘no’ and Sans lets his remaining pupil go dark, his eye-sockets pitch black above his rictus grin.

“if i gotta come find you again, you’re gonna have a  **b a d  t i m e**.”

Sans steps back, pretty sure he’s made his point. The human hastily nods, sputtering terrified agreements and tossing money onto the bar before scurrying out as fast as his feet can carry him, his drink forgotten.

Sans can understand the haste: he’s got other places to be, himself.

A quick shortcut and Sans is back home where you’re sitting safely on the couch right where he left you, rubbing idly at your bruised wrist.

You smile when you see him and it lifts a weight off Sans’ soul. He may be _good_ at scaring people but that doesn’t mean he _likes_ it, and you…

You’re never scared.

You love him, you’re happy when he’s around, you laugh at his jokes even when you’ve heard them all before, and that’s something so special that Sans would do just about _anything_ to protect your smile. 

Even if it means revisiting the worst years of his life.

“Sans!” you chirp, holding your arms out to him.

Well, he can’t refuse an invitation like _that_. 

He settles himself down on the couch and into your arms. You can’t quite get them all the way around him and it’s so cute that he just _has_ to nuzzle the top of your head, chuckling your name.

“Where’d you go?” you murmur, with your cheek pressed against his sternum. “I missed you.”

“just…takin’ care of something.”

You frown, just a little. “Kevin?”

“shouldn’t bug ya’ again.” Sans cups your soft little face in his hands, pressing his teeth to your forehead. “just tell me if he does, okay?”

He worries for a second that you might chastise him, but you don’t. All you say is, “Okay. I trust you,” and his soul throbs in his rib-cage.

Of course you do—you _know_ him, all the way down to his marrow, and you know he’d rather dust than add another coat of blood to his hands.

…But a friendly little chat to make sure you stay safe when he’s not with you?

That, he can still do.

And maybe a little something else, too.

“lemme see your arm, babe,” he murmurs, curling his hand around the finger-shaped bruises beneath your skin. “might be able to rustle up a little magic for ya’, if i get the _green_ light from ya’.”

Your laugh is music to his lack of ears. Healing has never been his forte, but for you…?

Anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, shameless plug! If you like this HT!Sans, feel free to check out my other fic, [Fur a Good Time, Call...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881328/chapters/37005171) ;D


	11. Family First (UF!Papyrus & Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**“I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.” + UF!Papyrus (Platonic)** _

You’d never before felt such a  _powerful_  combination of fury and pity.

The pity was for Papyrus, demolishing an entire quart of ice cream with the kind of ferocity you normally only saw from wild dogs.

The fury, well…

“WHO THE  _FUCK_  DOES HE THINK HE IS, ANYWAY?!” Papyrus demands, practically shivving the rocky road with his spoon. “‘DETRACT FROM HIS IMAGE’?! I WOULD  _ENHANCE_  HIS STUPID FUCKING IMAGE, HOW  _DARE_  HE…”

You lose yourself in fantasy for a moment, one where you solve this problem the way you knew monsters solved everything Underground: barging right in and tearing limb from limb from limb…from limb.

Mettaton had quite a few of  _those_ for you to work with.

You make your way over to the couch, instead, sitting down next to Papyrus. Instantly, he holds the tub of ice cream closer defensively, glaring at you.

“I’M NOT SHARING, YOU MOOCH,” he snaps at you, but you raise your hands in surrender.

“All yours, Pap,” you promise, which gets you a suspicious look.

That was fair enough: any other day, you’d be making a game out of stealing stuff right out of his claws, teasing him for his temper, playfully bopping him on the nasal ridge with his own spoon…

Papyrus allowed it, albeit with poor grace. Somewhere along the way, you’d become family to the skeletons that lived in this house, finding them rough around the edges but with genuine hearts of gold somewhere in there, deep, deep down.

Pap was like a little brother to you and you’re pretty sure he feels it too, or else you probably wouldn’t get away with  _half_  as much affectionate harassment as you do, levels rivaled only by Sans himself.

But today was different.

Today a shitty, trashcan robot had shot down your Papy’s hopes of being cast in his next gory, glitter-soaked melodrama and you were  _pissed_.

“You bought the rocky road,” you say, “you deserve to eat it. Seriously, it’s all yours.”

Papyrus is just a little too sharp to fall for that, of course. “ARE YOU PITYING ME?” he demands, imperiously.

 _Yes._  

“What? No!”

He puffs up a little, indignant rage squaring his shoulders and making his red eyes  _blaze_. 

If you didn’t know him so well, you’d  _definitely_ be intimidated.

“DON’T YOU  _DARE_  PITY ME, HUMAN,” he growls, “OR I’LL—”

“Papyrus, seriously,  _no_ , I’m not pitying you!” You scoff, shaking your head. “Why the hell would I pity  _you_? Mettatrash is the one who lost out today.”

“……EXPLAIN.”

“Dude, you’re a  _great_  actor. You know it, I know it, and I guarantee you  _he_  knows it.”

Papyrus frowns. “THEN WHY—”

“‘cause he  _sucks_! Do you have any idea how hard you’d upstage him if he let you anywhere  _near_ him on-set? I know you like the guy—”

“LIES!”

“—but he’s a shitty actor when you get right down to it. He’s all flash and no substance!  _You’re_  the whole package! A couple years from now, you’re going to be  _glad_  his garbage isn’t in your repertoire, it ages like  _milk_! You remember ‘Attack of The Killer Robot From Planet Loveulon,’ don’t you?”

Papyrus shudders. “UGH. THAT  _WAS_  BAD…”

“Exactly!” You gently smack his shoulder. “Forget about that prick and whatever excuses he made up to get you to leave. He  _wishes_  he had half your talent.”

It was a pep-talk, but you really  _did_ believe every word. Papyrus played a mean villain, a calloused general, an uncaring brother, when behind closed doors it couldn’t be further from the truth—his acting skills were top-notch, really and truly  _superb_!

He was so good that when you’d walked into the room, you almost hadn’t seen the hastily concealed tear-tracks streaking down his skull.

 _Almost_.

“Hey,” you say to him, putting on your absolute most serious face. “Do you want me to kick his ass for you?”

Papyrus snorts. “ _EXCUSE_  ME?”

“I’ll do it, man,” you insist. “I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.”

“………NYEH-HEH-HEH-HEH-HEH-HEH-HEH! YOU  _MUST_  BE JOKING,” Papyrus cackles, practically in hysterics from the very idea. “A WEAK LITTLE HUMAN LIKE  _YOU_?! IF ANYONE’S GOING TO BE KICKING ANYONE’S ASS, IT WILL BE THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS!”

“Whose ass? Yours?”

“I—WHAT?! NO! WHY WOULD I KICK MY OWN ASS?! NYEEEEH, HUMAN, YOU ARE UTTERLY INFURIATING SOMETIMES, I SW— _GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY ROCKY ROAD!_ ”

Papyrus shoves you for your all-too-ambitious bid for his ice cream and you topple off the couch with a laugh.

You have to admit, he’s probably right about you trying to fight Mettaton: you can’t even steal your bratty pseudo-sib’s ice cream without getting caught, you’d  _never_  be able to get all the way through MTT’s security to make some scrap metal, no matter how much you wanted to.

Luckily, you’d already sent a text to somebody who  _could._

 **You:** The rocky road’s out, might want to pay the tin-can a visit.

 **You:**  Make him cry.

 **Red-Hot:**  with pleasure, keep the home fires burnin ;p

You can handle that much, at least.

 _Nobody_  fucks with your family and gets away with it.


	12. Snuggle Therapy (SF!Papyrus/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied AFAB!Reader, implied menstruation

You’re too busy for this.

You have papers to grade, lessons to plan, Important Adult Responsibilities aplenty!

… Unfortunately, none of that seems to matter to the bitter, old witch that was Mother Nature—your cramps are hitting you like a freight train to the gut and all you want to do is go home to your nice, quiet bedroom, curl up, and pass out for a few hours.

But…you’re busy. You can’t afford to go home.

So instead, you’re lying on a cot in the school clinic, gritting your teeth and trying not to feel too much like you’re wasting time. It’d be nice if you could squeeze a nap in, but falling asleep on a timetable is one of those things that’s just easier said than done.

 _Especially_ with a sudden, unnatural crinkle of plastic beside your ear.

Your eyes open, your head turning and…a _very_ fond smile coming across your face.

Not too many people would sneak into the clinic just to leave a pack of mini-donuts on your pillow.

You ignore them.

“Rus?” you call softly, unable to hide your amusement. “You don’t have to _hide_ , I’m not gonna bite your head off.”

Papyrus’ skull pokes through the privacy curtain around your cot. “no…? that’s a relief.” He grimaces a little sheepishly. “heard, uh…heard some things…’bout human cycles…when they’re rough…”

“All the horror stories are true.”

He freezes, eye-sockets widening.

“…but I love you,” you smirk at him, “so you’re safe.”

It’s always adorable how much those three little words make Papyrus brighten. His grin goes crooked and his eye-lights seem to glow stronger and the faintest shade of lilac starts to dust along his cheekbones.

You’d say it to him twenty times a day if you didn’t think it would just fluster the hell out of him.

  ~~And even so, you were _tempted_.~~

“love you, too, angel,” he says quietly, finally edging his way past the curtain. “so…not good, huh?”

You try to shrug it off, but… “Nah, not too good.”

Papyrus makes a wordless noise of empathy.

Comfort isn’t exactly his strong suit, but you feel special beyond the telling of it when he hesitantly asks, “can i……do…anything, or…?”

His eye-lights are flicking between your face and the mini-donuts—you can practically _hear_ him saying, ‘eat them, problem solved, right?’ and it’s so lovably clueless that you’d pinch his cheeks if he had any.

“I will _demolish_ those later,” you promise. “Come here?”

You pat the cot to make your meaning clear and Papyrus catches your drift.

In short order, his lithe, bony body is climbing up onto it with you and you slot back against him like a puzzle piece; a perfect fit.

You know he likes it better when _you’re_ the big spoon, but you’re the one having the nasty cramps right now and you’ve _never_ known Papyrus to be picky about cuddling.

 _Ever_.

Sure enough, he curls around you without a fuss, happily planting his face in the juncture of your neck and already starting to nuzzle.

He lets you grab his hands and guide them around you, down to your belly where the cramps are the worst. His claws curl automatically, avoiding the snag-able fabric of your shirt and his blunt knuckles start to rub and knead with only minimal guidance.

It feels _incredible_ and for the first time since you laid down, you think you might actually stand a chance of falling asleep before you have Other Shit To Do.

“You’re the best, Rus,” you say on a sigh.

“mmnnno, you,” he shoots back, and normally you’d argue a bit but, well…

Papyrus is warm and _comfortable_ and today, he smells a little like marmalade. It’s almost as relaxing as the gentle circles he’s rubbing into your abdomen and you’re drifting off a lot faster than you expected.

“Don’t eat those donuts while I’m asleep,” you mumble at him. “I want ‘em…”

You’re not too surprised to hear, “no promises,” in return.

But c’est la vie—you had a feeling you’d wake up feeling better whether there were donuts in it for you or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to the delightful [skesgo](https://skesgo.tumblr.com/) who was having a rough time of it earlier. Hope they're feeling better now, but wrote some snuggling for them just in case. XD


	13. As You Like It (UF!Papyrus/Reader)

You didn’t question it for a second when Papyrus offered to run lines with you. Much as he tried to hide _any_ preference from you, he’d always loved Shakespeare.

_Especially_ the comedies—with their happily-ending romances.

But, admittedly, it never occurred to you just how distracting…certain words…might be to hear from the mouth of your lover.

“…I WOULD NOT HAVE MY RIGHT ROSALIND OF THIS MIND, FOR,” Papyrus declares, claws humbly to his chest, “I PROTEST, HER FROWN MIGHT _KILL_ ME.”

Rosalind—and in this moment, that’s you—waves him off, smiling indulgently.

“By this hand, it will not kill a fly,” you chuckle. “But come now, I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant it!”

Papyrus, your Orlando, takes a hopeful step forward. With earnest eye-lights, he entreats, “THEN LOVE ME, ROSALIND.”

Oh…oh, what a passionate expression! He’s good, he’s _very_ good and it’s a real test of your own acting chops to keep your lines in your head.

“Yes,” you say on a happy sigh, “faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all…”

“AND…WILT THOU HAVE ME?”

Boy, _wilt_ you.

“Ay, and twenty such,” you promise and Papyrus’ sharp teeth form a damnably handsome grin that has you all aflutter for a moment.

_Focus_ , you chide yourself, _stay in character!_

But try as you might, it’s not Rosalind whose eyes widen, expression dropping in confusion when Papyrus suddenly takes a knee before you.

This …wasn’t in the blocking…

And Orlando’s happy grin wasn’t meant to look more like a _smirk_ , one that was _all_ Papyrus…

And…and there weren’t supposed to be any props in the scene, so…so why…

Why is Papyrus pulling out a ring box and opening it for you?

As soon as the light gleams off the very _real_ engagement ring inside, though, you understand.

“…Oh, holy shit,” you breathe.

And Papyrus, ever the consummate professional at his craft, just quirks a brow at you.

“WELL?” he prompts you. “WHAT SAYEST THOU?”

Bastard.

_Bastard_ , you cannot _believe…!_

“I ‘sayest’ that if you’re gonna propose to me, you better do it with the right name!”

Papyrus cackles in amusement, but duly says your name and looks you deep in the eye.

“WILL YOU MARRY ME, MY LOVE?”

You _could_ say ‘yes’ and fling yourself at your newly christened skeleton fiancé, to best kiss the absolute daylights out of him.

Or.

You could, lips twitching in an effort to hold back an untamable smile, say, “As You Like It,” just to hear Papyrus’ surprised bark of laughter.

…which is, of course, immediately cut off as you _then_ fling yourself at your newly christened skeleton fiancé, to best kiss the absolute daylights out of him.

This is gonna make one _hell_ of a story for your friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone on tumblr mentioned the potential drama of my UF!Papyrus paired up with a fellow-theater-enthusiast-Reader and I couldn't resist.


End file.
